And Daro’h knew that he himself had caused this destruction to happen.I am responsible. He could not stop staring.It was the only way.

Though he had witnessed the original impact, Chief Scribe Ko’sh was devastated to gaze upon the aftermath. His facial lobes shimmered in a storm of violent hues, and at first he could not summon words, despite his lifetime of telling tales. “It is all gone. Every scrap of our history — of our soul!”

Daro’h said in a grave voice, “No.We are not gone. If you are a rememberer, thenremember. You have a greater responsibility than ever before. So long as we live, we can re-create our past glory. We must show the faeros that we are not defeated.”

“But weare defeated!” Ko’sh cried.

Yazra’h struck the Chief Scribe across the face with a blow that knocked him to the ground. Ko’sh got to his knees, blinking, as her two Isix cats prowled around him, sensing prey.

Daro’h glowered at him. “I will not have theSaga say that we behaved as cowards, even in the face of great loss.”

From across the blasted landscape, more refugees arrived from villages and camps. They had sensed the Prime Designate’s call and followed him here, looking for answers. Daro’h intended to give them what they needed. Until his father returned, they were allhis people.

But when the storm of fireballs reappeared in the sky like an exploding globular cluster, he wondered if his followers were doomed after all. A rain of ellipsoidal fires streaked in smoldering paths overhead, thousands of fiery entities returning to Ildira along with faeros incarnate Rusa’h.

“Now they will annihilate us,” Ko’sh moaned. “We are out in the open, unprotected.”

Daro’h drew a deep breath, and the air felt hot in his lungs. He did not know how he could refute the Chief Scribe’s prediction.

But it quickly became apparent that these faeros had not come to exterminate the population, but to make a stand. The fireballs appeared to be in retreat — from Solar Navy warliners! And Roamer ships that streaked after them, firing small white projectiles. Whenever an artillery shell struck the faeros, an explosion of cold, white steam engulfed and smothered it.

Ridek’h let out a shout; Yazra’h looked as if she wanted to spring into the air to join the fight. The Ildirans who had followed him to the wreckage of Mijistra cried out with joy and relief.

Daro’h made his voice loud and clear. “Adar Zan’nh has returned!” The strands ofthism strengthened as he felt his father’s nearness rejuvenating his spirit. “And the Mage-Imperator is with them.”

Rod’h and his siblings gazed upward. “And Osira’h. And our mother.”

Yazra’h shouted triumphantly at Chief Scribe Ko’sh, making him flinch. “We arenot defeated!”

With a voice that held a wisdom far beyond his years, young Rod’h turned to Daro’h. “As Prime Designate, there is an important part of the battle you must wage here on the ground. Only you can do it — with us. Follow me.”

147

Sirix

To get out of the solar system, the black robot ships pushed their engines well beyond their design specifications. Even so, Sirix calculated that they weren’t moving fast enough to outrun the two swarmships in close pursuit.

These new Klikiss had significantly advanced their technology from their race’s previous incarnation. Their swarmships flew faster and could accelerate more dramatically; no doubt their armaments were improved as well.

But his black robots had made advances, too. The new framework battleships were far superior to the old Klikiss vessels, and he also had his stolen EDF ships. Sirix believed that his robots had a statistically significant chance of surviving against two swarmships, but only if he used sufficiently aggressive tactics.

The swarmships managed to close in on his fleeing group before they made it out of the solar system. Desperate to delay them, Sirix ran an assessment of the vessels accompanying him. Obviously, some would be destroyed, and he needed to choose. The slowest of the fifty-six craft was a battered Thunderhead weapons platform that had not been completely repaired. The platform lagged behind, and the swarmships were almost upon it.

Sirix decided to sacrifice it.

None of the original black robots were aboard the Thunderhead, only thirty-seven of the new robots released from the Hansa compy factories. Considering the circumstances, Sirix decided the loss was acceptable, if it bought enough time for his comrades to escape.

Without remorse, he transmitted instructions to the Thunderhead, and the new black robots dutifully accepted their orders. The weapons platform slowed and turned about to target its jazers and projectile weapons toward the swarmships. “Destroy as many of the component ships as possible.”

But the Thunderhead’s jazer ports and projectile launchers remained dark and closed. The weapons platform hung motionless, completely vulnerable. Something was clearly wrong.

Alarm surged through Sirix’s cybernetic mind. “Open fire.” The new robots aboard did not respond.

Because of their frantic exodus, this particular Thunderhead was still under repair. Had its weapons been disabled? In a frantic staccato he repeated his order to fire, but before the robots aboard could obey, the swarmships were upon the faltering platform.

Bristling with a thousand bright needles, the two Klikiss vessels opened fire, and within moments the lagging Thunderhead exploded, spraying molten debris in all directions.

A complete failure. And now the black robots had lost time and any advantage they might have gained by the sacrifice. As the explosion’s flare dissipated, Sirix commanded his remaining ships to fly faster.

The two swarmships suddenly disassembled themselves, and each spewed a heavy stream of component ships forward at impossible accelerations, like thick jets of particles. The flare of component vessels arced around to recoalesce as a third, smaller swarmship directly in front of Sirix’s fleeing fleet. From behind, the two original swarmships began to open fire on the rearmost black robot ships, while the newly formed cluster shot at the lead vessels.

Two of the repaired EDF Mantas were destroyed; one of the new robot-design ships was disabled and reeling out of control.

Sirix would have to make his last stand here, at the fringes of the Earth’s solar system. He continued to run calculations and reevaluate his plans. Very few options remained.

PD and QT stood at their weapons stations, ready to strike out against the enemy that Sirix had programmed them to hate. He was gratified that these two compies had not proved to be disappointments, as DD had.

“With our enhanced new weaponry, these ships are not demonstrably inferior to the Klikiss,” PD pointed out. “Our odds of success are non-zero.”